Where Griffons Go to Die
by Hawki
Summary: "Fellow foals let me tell you a story. Of a land under cloudless sky. Of zebras and sun marks and coming of age, and the tale of a griffon who died."
1. Sunlight

**My Little Pony: Where Griffons Go to Die**

**Chapter 1: Sunlight**

The lion was before her.

There was plenty of room to hide in the grass if you knew how to use it. As in, use it apart from eating it, of which zebras often did when other food was not available. She had never been taught how to use it like this, but then again, none of her people seemed intent on teaching her anything she felt actually mattered. She was a zebra of the Quagga Tribe. Expected to be a healer. Expected to grow to be wise, be old and pass down what she'd learnt to the next generation. It was the way of the Quagga. The way of many zebra tribes of Borensisia, under the gaze of Awambi, the Sun Goddess. Like she was now. As too was the lion. A lion who was about to get a face full of staff.

Such was the mind of Oromo. "Little child," as she was called by way of the literal meaning of her name. The one who would not grow up. The one who would show Awambi that she was meant for this. That when she received her sun mark, it would show her a destiny that was outside what her tribe had meant for her. And if she had to, that would include showing this lion that zebras did not always run from their foes.

Manticores might be another story, the zebra reflected, thinking of the legends of the lands to the north-lands her father insisted did not exist any more than lands to south. There was only east and west, and here between them, wedged between where Awambi rose and set. But this was a lion. Something that distinctly existed. And sliding out her staff and strapping it through her right wrist guard, she prepared to show that the Quagga could be predators to.

_Come on, _Oromo thought, watching the hairy beast saunter across the scrubland. _Let me take that crown off your head…_

There was none. Not on a scrubland lion anyway, unlike the legendary lion kings of the slightly less legendary jungles.

_Come on…_

Oromo told herself she was ready. Staves were hard to make and even harder to use, what with having hooves instead of the fingers of the great apes. It involved standing up on one's hind hooves, maintaining balance as well as manoeuvrability, and due to the need to strap it between one's wrists, if you fell, it could be quite hard to get up. Hence why zebras ran rather than fought. Like the antelope, but without the horns to fend off predators.

_Come on…_

It was now or never. Soon the lion would pass by. Soon her window of opportunity would pass. So in light of this, and under Awambi's light from the sky above, she strapped the staff into her second wrist guard, getting her hind legs ready.

"Keyaahhh!"

She sprung.

The lion turned and casually swatted her out of the air.

With the sound of crushed grass, Oromo landed in it. With the sound of grass that bent to the will of the apex predator of Borensisia, the lion walked over to her.

_No!_

Desperately, Oromo raised her staff. With ease, the lion extended a claw and cut the bark that bound her hooves. And with just as much ease, he swatted the staff aside. He looked down at her. His eyes cold. His mane shaggy. His breath like death…or was it meat? Oromo had never eaten meat. She-

"You're not a lion."

…kept staring at him.

"You were downwind," the lion continued. "Your weapon's pathetic. Your stance needs work. And since you're a female, I assume the Quagga are running out of warriors…"

Oromo's ears stood up. They tended to do that when she was angry.

"Or you're a fool."

And the ears went back down.

"So run away," the lion said, bearing his teeth in what Oromo supposed was meant to be reassuring, but instead looked terrifying. "Because that's what zebras do, isn't it?"

And with that, the lion turned away, flicking her face with his tail as he did so.

"I'm not done!" Oromo called out. "Come back and face me you-"

"Prey on herbs, stripy. It's all you can do."

And the lion walked away. King of the scrubland. Herself…right now she felt lower than a slave. Not that the Quagga practiced such a technique, but…

Oromo got to her hooves. No other tribe would accept her as a slave anyway. Not when she was so useless.

Hot tears blurred her vision as she went to retrieve her staff, the weapon promptly being slung across her back. She glanced at the sun, Awambi's rays burning her eyes. There was no mercy from the goddess today. There was no escaping fate. She was born to be a medicine woman. She would live as a medicine woman. Without proof she could be something different, she'd be fated to take her lessons from Sangoma, and be told off by her father…at _best_.

_This is what I'm meant for, isn't it? _Oromo thought, shielding her eyes from Awambi's glow. _You've decided my fate, haven't you?_

Awambi didn't answer. She kept shining. Even as Oromo turned away and looked at her flank. Her one beacon of hope. The thing that kept her going even in the midst of this failure.

_Then where is my sun mark?_

Before trotting off back to her village, Oromo gave one last glance at the sun, hoping for an answer.

Awambi remained silent.

* * *

"You're late."

Firm and hard. That was how the words sounded. Just like Selous himself. Warrior. Protector. A zebra where every other stripe was marred by a scar or covered with some ornamentation. And also a zebra who was Oromo's father.

"Well?" her father asked, clearly not impressed by her silence. "Where have you been? Awambi has reached her highest point."

Didn't he have something better to do, Oromo wondered? Some gathering party to protect? Some other tribe to negotiate with over who had access to what? Did he really have time to stand at the village entrance, waiting for his erstwhile daughter?

"Fine," Selous said, in light of his daughter's silence. "Don't answer."

And did he even care? Or did he want to remind her that he was her father, and once she'd learnt the ways of herbs and medicine, he'd always lord over her? Either way, he began heading into the tribe's camp, and dutiful daughter as she was, Oromo followed.

It was always the same, Oromo reflected. The Quagga would move with the sun and the rain, as all zebras did. But the camps they set up all followed the same style. Dwellings of mud and bark, a wooden wall with a single entrance, the smell of herbs and the laughter of foals and fillies…it was home. Supposedly. Yet glancing at the walls as she trotted after her father, Oromo felt it was more like a prison. She sometimes suspected it was a feeling that had led to her mother slipping out that fateful day, which led to…what came afterwards.

_I'll escape one day though, _she told herself, trying to banish the unpleasant memories. _One day…if Awambi lets me…if my father lets me…_

Her father wasn't a deity, but he still exerted more control over her than the sun goddess. As they made their way through the village, she glanced at his sun mark, that of a spear extending into a stone. The spear of the warrior that he was, the stone representing his personality. Cold, uncompromising, and one who did not bleed. Indeed, "Selous" literally meant "stone" in some zebra languages. That was how names worked among the Quagga. All had a birth name, and upon receiving their sun mark, they could pick another. A sign of maturity, and the ability to choose your own path in this world.

"Here," Selous said. "Where you should have been when Awambi was lower."

Oromo snorted. She shouldn't be here. And the whole sun mark thing was ridiculous. If you chose your own path across the savannah, why did Awambi need to dictate it for you? Why-

"Are you listening?"

Selous had turned to face her. Oromo faced him in turn.

"Well?"

"Yes, father," she said. "I'm listening."

"Good. Then listen to your teacher."

"I'll do that," Oromo murmured. "But that doesn't mean I like what she has to say."

Selous sighed. "Do your duty, my daughter. Awambi will show you the way soon."

"I'm sure," Oromo said, watching her father turn and head to wherever he was meant to be. "I'm sure she'll show me the way…"

She wasn't. But her father was convinced. She'd be a good member of the Quagga. Stay in the village, learn the art of healing. No doubt find a handsome zebra some day and bring new children into the world, to receive Awambi's love. She-

"Ah, Oromo. You're here."

The zebra snapped out of her reverie, facing her teacher.

"And late," the elderly zebra added. "Been chasing the antelope again?"

Oromo grimaced. She'd chased the antelope in the old days. It was after receiving a black(er) eye from one of them kicking her that had landed her in front of Crawshay in the first place. It was what had landed her as an apprentice healer, and what had inspired her to go after lions. Because if she was going to escape her fate, she needed something bigger. Something better. Something more than simply learning various potions and broths to treat the zebras who needed them.

"Well, come in then," Crawshay said. "Awambi has begun setting, but we can still make up for lost time."

The zebra entered her dwelling. Letting out a snort, Oromo followed.

Crawshay. Literally "wise woman" in the Quagga language. Looking at the crone, Oromo suspected that "Agshay" (old woman) would have been a better choice. Her stripes were long, her ears were ever downwards, her sun mark depicted some dry bushes, and she had more neck rings than there were stars in the sky. Oromo had five such rings on her neck and left forelimb, not to mention a gold earring in each of her ears, and felt that was enough.

"Will this last long?" the young zebra asked as she watched her teacher move around to the other side of the clay pot that lay in the centre of the room. "I have…things to do."

"It will take as long as necessary," Crawshay said. "As all such work does."

"My patients may disagree."

"Those you treat may do so. But you have the final say as a healer, my student. Do not forget this."

Oromo snorted. Final say indeed. She was a Quagga, a zebra, and a female. It meant that she would ever be at the mercy of males, and every other creature that roamed under Awambi's light. Lions, giraffes, even hippos. Zebras bore the colours of black and white, but the world was in shades of grey. Each creature competing along the same grass.

And yet the zebras were Awambi's chosen, the shamans often said. Why was it that they and no other creature received sun marks?

"Well, come on then," the herbalist said. "Today, I indeed to teach you about seeds of truth."

Oromo rolled her eyes. Seeds of truth. She knew all about them. They-

"The seeds of truth,' Crawshay continued, "sprout only in light of a truthful confession. A meaningful one, mind you. They…"

Oromo let Crawshay ramble on. She knew about seeds of truth. She knew about every herb there was in all this blasted scrub. She knew what every other herbalist among the Quagga knew. If she was fated to become a healer, she wanted to be in a situation where such skills could make a difference.

"…when combined with the petals of truth…"

But they didn't. And so far, she had about as much chance of changing her fate as she had of telling her father what she really did out in the scrubland and keeping her independence, let alone her staff.

"So then," Crawshay said. "Let's see you make this remedy, eh?"

Scowling, Oromo did.

It was going to be a long lesson. Awambi would be low in the sky by the time she was done.

But maybe it was just as well.

If her sun mark indeed represented her fate, she had no desire to receive one anytime soon.


	2. Twilight

**My Little Pony: Where Griffons Go to Die**

**Chapter 2: Twilight**

The air was dry here.

Over the sea, it had been moist. Over the sea, he had felt the sun above, and the warmth of the water below, storing the sun's light. But here, although it was warm even as the sun set, it was dry. The air was dry. The land was dry. If not for his destination, he might have settled down now and then.

But yet he still flew, driven by the euphoria of approaching death.

Vultur did not know how long he had flown. Three days? Four? His diminished senses, along with the need for food and water, did not lend themselves to marking the passage of time. The sun rose, the sun set, but he had barely been aware of the events. Like Borensisia, he felt timeless. Yet unlike the land below, he was not eternal. His end would come.

It was the reason he had flown here.

Up ahead, he saw his death site. Mount Altai, or at least so it was called by griffons. What the peoples of the land below called it, Vultur was unaware. But as his mind drifted under the summer sun, he reflected that it did not matter. He would be alone up there. His last day. His last evening. Not even the flock of flamingos in the airstreams below would join him in his hours of contemplation. In fact, the entire scrubland looked deserted. Apart from the lone zebra that was.

Straining his eyes, Vultur was nonetheless able to spot the creature. Young, seemingly female, and given that she was wandering alone, possibly quite stupid as well. Maybe it was some quaint tribal task or something. At any rate, it was irrelevant. He was a griffon. A lord of the sky. Above bird and pegasus. Beyond phoenix and dragon. A griffon experiencing his last day in this world, but up here, in the air, he was still king. The-

Vultur stumbled in his flight. King indeed…

Tightening his beak, the griffon flew on. Altai was in sight. He couldn't stop now. He had to reach the summit. Carry out his death flight. Such was his purpose here.

He had come to where griffons went to die.

* * *

It was dangerous being out in the scrubland by oneself. Awambi was setting. Her children were not protected by her glow. Lions, hyenas…it was their time now.

And as far as Oromo was concerned, her own as well.

She'd only recently escaped Crawshay's lesson, and what her father didn't know wouldn't hurt him. There was nothing left for her to learn concerning herbs and remedies. She knew it all. There was no challenge. No adventure. Anyone could heal, and for all of Crawshay's praise, Oromo didn't feel exceptional. No. What would be exceptional would be to find her own path. Her role. Hopefully a unique one. To receive Awambi's blessings. But still her flank remained bare. She was bereft of a sun mark when the sun goddess was high in the sky, and she was still bereft of one in these hours of twilight. Bereft of purpose. Of freedom.

Moving along the scrubland, her mind wandering, Oromo briefly glanced up at the sky. It would be best to head back to the village soon she reflected. If she was going to prove herself a warrior, it would be best to do it under Awambi's light. Soon Yemayelti, the moon goddess would shine over the land instead, and while the Quagga bore no ill will to her, Awambi was the true power in the cosmos. Legends stated that Awambi and her sister had come to disagreement once, and that Awambi guided the moon instead of Yemayelti. Oromo supposed the tale was true, but at the end of the day…well, it was the end of the day. Awambi blessed them. Protected them. Gave them their sun marks. Radiated her benevolence right to the end of twilight, piercing through the shadow in the sky.

_Wait a minute…_

Oromo looked up. And gasped.

Some…_thing_…was flying in the sky. Something dark, something large, and something like no creature she had ever seen. It was dark feathered, dark tailed, dark clawed…suffice to say, it was _dark_. And ominous. Something that made its way through the sky swiftly, apparently immune to Awambi's light. Something that made its way to Mount Uhuru.

_This…can't be good._

Oromo took out her staff, leaning on it as she strained to track the creature's movements through the increasingly dim sky. Uhuru was sacred to the Quagga. It wasn't the tallest mountain in Borensisia. Indeed, one could make a return trip to its summit in less than a day, provided your hooves were steady enough. Yet return trips were few and restricted. Uhuru was where Equiferus the Radiant had received his sun mark. So blessed by Awambi, he had led his fellow zebras to form the Quagga Tribe. Uhuru was for the Quagga, and the Quagga alone. Not for giant feathered fiends that no doubt meant ill.

_Father will need to hear about this… _Oromo thought to herself. _He…_

Or maybe he didn't.

She was closest to Uhuru. At the least, she could reach its base before Yemayelti reached her highest point, and if Awambi's light through the moon was strong enough, perhaps she could even make a head start. If the thing was intent on staying, she could confront it. Prove herself. Drive it off or, in the event of its absence, still boast about her feat. Not all the Quagga would be impressed at her audacity, her father least of all, but maybe…maybe it wasn't needed. Maybe this was it. Her moment. The point in time where she would seize her destiny and receive her sun mark.

Strapping her staff across her back and moving across the scrubland, Oromo galloped off to find out.


	3. The Mountain is Tall, the Fall is Short

**My Little Pony: Where Griffons Go to Die**

**Chapter 3: The Mountain is Tall, but the Fall is Short**

With a start, Vultur awoke.

Maybe it was instinct. His body, yearning for an end to its suffering. A message to say "get up and die – the sooner the better." Or maybe it was the dreams. Dreams that were already on the edge of his memory, like water leaving the shore.

Did you dream when you were dead? Did the consciousness exist in some form? Did it go somewhere else? Or did it dissipate along with the rest of the body?

Slowly, the griffon got up, flexing his wings. His claws, his joints, his whole body…it was aching. Crying for it to end. Yet his wings felt fine. They were ready for the death flight. Looking up at the sky and squinting, Vultur saw the sun was not yet at its peak, but nearing its destination. Apparently Celestia wasn't taking the day off on his deathday. How considerate. Come midday, and his life would end. There was no requirement, but tradition dictated that he meet his end then. And even now, Vultur supposed he might as well follow it.

But for now, there was nothing to do but wait. Slowly, Vultur walked over to the edge of the ledge on which he was perched. Mount Altai wasn't particularly steep or tall, but up here, he could still see the scrubland spreading out for miles. Birds in the sky, beasts on the ground…it would be so easy to join them. To step out and fall. To cancel out the death flight altogether and end it there and then.

But he didn't. He just stood there. And stared. Looked at the ground, eventually speaking.

"Will I dream?"

Vultur looked up at the sun.

It didn't have an answer.

* * *

"Crawshay? Have you seen Oromo?"

"No. Why?"

"Because she's meant to be with you, you feather-headed hippo."

They were harsh words, but Selous didn't care. He was busy. He had to go on a scouting trip with Zacora ("Hard Wanderer") and Zegara ("Kind One") and he expected his daughter to be studying that which would allow her to treat her fellow Quagga if anything happened. He also expected the elderly zebra before him to be equally concerned, not preoccupied with whatever foul broth was stewing in the clay pot in the centre of her hut.

"Say, what is that?" Zagara asked, walking forward. "It looks-"

Selous held out his staff. The zebra hung back.

"I'm sure Oromo is fine," Crawshay said softly, hobbling to her shelf and clasping a withered plant beneath her teeth. "Give your daughter credit."

"For what?" the warrior asked. "For missing her education?"

"One can learn about the world through means other than hiding away from it," the wise woman intoned, dropping the roots into her pot. "You should know that of all people."

Selous's back-hairs bristled. Exploring the world…was _this _where his daughter had got all her nonsense from? Stories of far-off lands, of creatures besides those of Borensisia? When he left the village, he did it because he had to. Not because he wanted to. Not to follow in

Gritting his teeth as well, Selous glanced back at his comrades, Zegara looking impassive and Zacora barely keeping his eagerness in check. If only Crawshay would be so loyal.

"I have to go," the zebra said to the elderly Quagga before him. "But if Oromo turns up, do…"

"Do what?" Crawshay asked, not looking away from her pot.

"Something. Something to make her understand discipline. Something…something…"

A green mist puffed up from the cauldron. Through it, Crawshay turned to him.

"Do something," Crawshay intoned, "can be the same as doing nothing."

Selous stared at her.

"Selous, your name means 'straight and narrow,'" the elderly zebra said. "It is the name you chose when you received your sun mark. Someday, Oromo will receive her own sun mark."

"It's a day that can't come soon enough," the warrior said. "The sooner Awambi reinforces her path, the better."

"And if her path is not on the straight and narrow?" Crawshay asked. "What then?"

Selous stared at her.

"Selous, I'm not as senile as you think I am," the wise woman said, making her way to some dry leaves on a shelf. "I know Oromo isn't happy here."

"Happiness has to be sacrificed for the greater good."

"Straight and narrow, as always," Crawshay said, dropping the leaves into the pot. "But I am wise enough to see that the river may bend before it breaks on the banks."

Zacora tapped Selous on his shoulder. The warrior ignored him.

"Oromo is bored," Crawshay continued. "Everything I teach her comes naturally. She can become a healer. She can help the Quagga. But we are but one village. Her talents are liable to be wasted."

"My daughter is not a waste," Selous growled, entering the hut proper and putting his staff between Crawshay and a shelf.

"I did not say that. I said that she has potential. And I will say now that a day may come where her path may bend…"

The zebra moved around Selous, grasping some roots.

"Before she breaks."

Selous remained silent. Remained silent to Crawshay. Remained silent as he trotted out. As he gestured to Zacora and Zegara to follow.

He would neither bend or break. But as soon as Oromo returned from whatever on earth she was doing, he would make sure she bended…to his will.

Or be broken.

* * *

Awambi was being kind to her, Oromo thought.

It was a pleasant time of morning. Warm enough to keep her moving up Uhuru, yet not so warm that she felt tired. If anything, the sunlight made the zebra feel invigorated. She was here. On Uhuru. Defying every limitation the Quagga had placed on her. Seizing her destiny. Glancing at Awambi's light, Oromo uttered silent thanks. Awambi was with her. Awambi would guide her. Once she found the thing that had defiled this mountain, Awambi would bless her with her sun mark.

_Unless…_

Unless the thing had flown away. Unless it had moved on to another area of Borensisia, or whatever mythical land it had originated from. Unless she was up here for nothing, fated to return to her tribe with a tale that no-one would believe. No evidence apart from…the black feather that landed on her nose.

_What in the-?_

Oromo looked upwards. There, on a ledge, was a claw. Sticking out. As if the creature was resting.

On instinct, the zebra increased her pace, moving up the slope of Uhuru to find her prey. She became parallel with the ledge. Drew out her staff. Found the creature.

And just stared.

It was like no creature she'd ever seen, and yet, also reminiscent of every creature she'd seen. At its front were two large claws, like that of a bird of prey, yet large enough to give those birds a run for their feathers. Yet its rear half, rear tail f and rear legs were like those of a lion. Strong. Muscular. It even had paws. Yet its fur and feathers were jet black, like that of the black panther. And indeed, the feathers were most prominent on its two wings, and head. Like a bird, but no bird she knew of. Did birds exist in other lands?

It was strange. It was majestic. And yet, Oromo drew her staff. For once, she could get the drop on her foe…if it was her foe.

_It is my foe, isn't it?  
_Oromo looked up at Awambi. Awambi remained silent. Was this a test of faith, the idea that she had to rid Uhuru of this intruder? Or was it one of compassion? Because looking at this creature, sleeping peacefully, Oromo wondered if it was necessary to strike at all.

_It has to leave though, _she reminded herself. _Perhaps not through force, but…_

Slowly, the zebra moved towards the sleeping beast. Slowly, she extended her staff forward, doing her best to stay balanced on three legs. Slowly, the staff approached the creature's beak…

The beak opened and grabbed the staff.

Oromo let out a yelp as she stumbled back, the creature glaring at her with two amber eyes. It spit out the staff, sending it hurtling to the scrubland below. It slowly got up…_very _slowly…

_Is it wounded?_

It didn't seem to be. But it was moving slowly all the same.

"Unafanya nini?" it asked.

Oromo stared, even as she kept slowly moving away. The language seemed vaguely familiar, but it certainly wasn't the one the Quagga spoke, or indeed, most of the animals of Borensisia. There were old dialects, true, but over time, they had converged to one core dialect. As was Awambi's will. Even the lions and their ilk had the courtesy of talking to their prey in the same language.

"Kwa nini wewe?"

"I…I don't…"

"Nijibuni!"

The creature was getting angry. Oromo kept walking back, but stumbled.

"Mbona hapa?! Je, si wewe kuzungumza?!"

The creature leered down at her, its eyes radiating menace. Tears trickled down Oromo's eyes, but if that was swaying the creature, it wasn't showing. All that was left was to try and communicate.

"Kuacha kilio! Nijibuni!"

Nijibuni…it had said that before. And that was all Oromo needed…she hoped. The language sounded…lionish? She wasn't too familiar with it, but taking the plunge, she began to talk.

"Tafadhali…" the zebra began. "Ji…ni…laganu…Oromo?"

The creature took a step back. It stared at her.

"Mimi…wa…wan…Quagga?"

The creature kept staring. It had backed off, but Oromo could tell she was struggling to communicate. Maybe she had to go down to a baser level.

"Oromo," she said, pointing at herself. "You?"

Did it understand what "you?' meant. Possibly not, but it did point a claw at its feathered chest.

"Vultur," it said.

Oromo nodded. This was a start at least. But names were a far cry from the words it had exclaimed earlier. How on earth was she going to communicate fluently.

"Ulisema…walikuwa wa Quagga?" the creature asked.

A case in point. Apart from "Quagga." Oromo didn't understand a single word. But yet…

"Oromo," she said, pointing to herself again. "Of Quagga."

"Vultur," the thing said, pointing to itself. "Griffon."

Griffon? Did he mean "of griffon?" Or that he was a griffon? And in Awambi's name, what was a griffon in the first place.

The zebra shifted her gaze to Awambi herself for a moment. Still in the sky. Still silent. Perhaps still waiting to get this Vultur of Griffon off Uhuru. An impossible task without her staff. But maybe…maybe a staff wasn't needed.

Oromo lay down, folding her forelegs under her body. Slowly, the one called Vultur did the same. And with the same level of speed, Oromo took out one of her earrings, using its curved edge to cut away the grass on the ledge, exposing the dirt. She drew a circle with lines from it.

"Sun," she said.

"Sun," the griffon said.

Oromo watched as he drew a small circular object by it. "Moon," he said.

"Moon," Oromo responded. She drew a star. "Star," she said.

"Nyota," the griffon said.

Oromo smiled. It seemed that whatever language Vultur was speaking, there were some root similarities to it. "Sun" and "moon" for the same, while "star" was different.

Awambi was high in the sky. She would set before they'd be able to communicate properly. But Oromo didn't mind.

Right now, she felt like she had all the time in the world.

* * *

_A/N_

_I'll be honest in saying that the language Vultur utilizes is indeed Swahili. Kind of a cop-out I admit, but as per my 'dubbing' the zebra language into English in this story, I reasoned it was the logical choice bar creating a language of my own. Having read _Planet Word _this year, it was a task I didn't feel up to._

_And in other news, season 3 of _Friendship is Magic _has begun airing. To be honest, I don't think the season 3 intro held a candle to its predecessors, but hey, it's early days yet._

_And in case you're wondering, this chapter title was too long for it to be entered in the chapter upload option, hence why it's shorter in the tab than in the chapter heading itself.  
_


	4. Deathflight

**My Little Pony: Where Griffons Go to Die**

**Chapter 4: Deathflight**

The conversation hadn't gone the way Vultur thought it would.

It was sunset by now. He and the zebra had spent the entire day learning how to understand each other. At first, they'd communicated through Simbanese, an old lion dialect that he'd picked up decades ago, trying to work out a translation between it and whatever language the zebra was speaking in. Unfortunately, the process was slow, frustrating, and with his death ever nearing, it was time he could ill afford. The zebra was clearly intelligent, but not even Celestia herself could pick up a new language in a single day.

It was thinking of Celestia that got him talking in Equestrian. And _that _language the zebra had picked up.

"So Equestrian I'm speaking, words come out from my mouth. From a land far to the north, this one in the south."

Sort of.

The zebra…Oromo, if he understood correctly, had picked up the dialect to the extent of rhyme. Rhyme, she could talk in. Rhyme, she seemed to excel at. Stringing non-rhythmic sentences gave her problems, but somehow, putting the words together the way that she did allowed her to communicate.

"Equestrian you speak, your rhymes are okay. Heck, it only took us, better part of the day."

And him as well. Even if he had to make rhymes up on the spot as well.

Still, as Oromo smiled at him, it was apparent that at least _some _communication didn't need words for it.

_But how much communication can be given? _Vultur wondered. _How much longer…can I…?_

The griffon knelt forward suddenly as a fiery pain coursed through his body. He tried to hide it from the zebra, but he could tell that she was aware of it to at least some extent. As such, he tried to change the subject.

"So Oromo, my new friend, talk to me my friend. Your life, your friends, your family, from beginning to the end."

The pain was starting to fade. Maybe it was the rhyme. Maybe it was the look on Oromo's face, seemingly daunted by the task of not just stringing a few sentences together, but giving him her life story. Not that she was under any obligation to of course. But still…it was hard to describe, but at the least, Vultur found himself enjoying her company. A deathflight was to be conducted alone. But the time before that allowed more leeway. Enough for the zebra to lick her lips, cough, then begin to speak.

_A zebra of the Quagga,_

_That is my lot in life._

_Trained to be a healer,_

_It's given me much strife._

…

_I want to change my destiny,_

_Receive Awambi's mark._

_Yet the sun is silent,_

_And so too the moon in dark._

Vultur didn't know who Awambi was. But the phrase "receive her mark" caught his attention. He knew that zebras received cutie marks in the same way ponies did, and he could also see that Oromo was bereft of one. Did they believe Awambi, whoever or whatever that was, gave them their marks?

_My father, he controls me,_

_Yet my fate I strive to change._

_So over scrub of this wide land,_

_My wandering doth range._

…

_I-_

…

"Your fate, what be it, tell me?" Vultur asked. "You did not specify. Speak quickly, for we are in place, where griffons go to…"

He trailed off. He didn't want to tell her about the deathflight. Not yet at least. Still, although he cut off his sentence, Oromo seemed to understand.

_A healer, that's what I'm meant to be,_

_Yet in it I feel confined._

_Not challenged, doomed to conformity,_

_Like the blind leading the blind._

…

_I can treat the sick, know herbs and roots,_

_In itself a worthy task._

_But yet Awambi has not blessed me,_

_It's like my true path has been masked._

It was also like Oromo was more passionate about medicine than she let on. At least that was the impression Vultur got. Yet she kept going.

_So I was upon the scrub,_

_When I saw you in the sky._

_Too our sacred Mount Uhuru,_

_And I did not know why._

_Uhuru? _Vultur wondered. _Must be Mount Altai…_

_So I found you, and I met you,_

_And through Equestrian I speak._

_These ponies that you tell me of,_

_I think I'd like to meet._

…

_But enough of me, oh feathered friend,_

_Tell me of yourself._

_You say you flew from eastern land,_

_Of different continental shelf._

Vultur didn't recall going into plate tectonics. But he had to hand it to Oromo, the fact that she was able to recall such a thing, perhaps even understand it, spoke volumes of her character. And yet, there were also things unsaid that he sensed. She wanted a challenge. She wanted to change her fate, but he had the feeling that "fate" wasn't the problem for her. For all her talk about the tedium of medicine, she struck him as having a secret passion for it. The way her eyes shone. The way her words flowed. For all her posturing as a warrior, how she had attacked him…"overcompensation" was the word that came to mind. Along with numerous others, as he did his best to tell the zebra about herself. And ignore the fire spreading through his body.

_Far from east I've flown,_

_And have flown south as well._

_From land where dwell the griffons black,_

_Over sea's mighty swell._

Oromo's ear twitched. As if she didn't even know what the sea was.

_The sea covers much of this world,_

_Separates the lands._

_Some have sailed it, some have crossed it,_

_See the sea you'll understand._

Or at least he hoped so.

_But yes, I've flown, and flown so far,_

_Come to Mount Altai._

_Come to what you call Uhuru,_

_Come to where…where…_

He struggled to get the words out. He wondered if he could change them. But it was too late. And besides, Oromo would learn the truth soon enough.

_Come to where griffons go to die._

Oromo's eyes widened as she sprung up to her four feet. Vultur lowered his head, feeling…ashamed, somehow. It was hard to describe, but he regulated the feeling to the back of his mind as he went on. Right now, in the company of this zebra, he felt the need to tell his story.

_Fire sickness, it is called._

_Brittle become my bones._

_Heart becomes tried, my lungs doth wheeze,_

_My spirit lets out groans._

…

_Deathflight is my option,_

_To plunge down from Mount Altai._

_My spirit heads for hereafter,_

_If such thing awaits I._

Oromo kept staring. Vultur opened his beak. But she beat him to it…sort of. It was clear she was trying to fight the urge to respond in her own language, to compose a response.

_Fire sickness that you speak of,_

_I know of similar tales._

_Yet we have roots to treat it,_

_To calm the victim's wails._

Now it was Vultur's turn to widen his eyes. _A cure? Is it possible?_

_But treatment time is short,_

_Must be administered within a week._

_How long have you had it?_

_More or less please speak._

Vultur didn't speak. His eyes closed. That was the only answer he could give.

_We always came here to die, the black griffons, _the wanderer reflected. _And if what the girl says is true, the cure was always here for us._

A tear trickled down his beak. Oromo nuzzled it away.

_Awambi will receive you,_

_She will-_

"No she won't!"

Oromo stared. Vultur didn't care. Not what she heard. Nor whether she understood.

"Awambi this, Awambi that!" the griffon shouted. "Have you ever seen her?! Has she ever come down to you?! Have you ever seriously considered the evidence for the idea of some sun goddess existing?! Or are you stupid enough to think that Celestia is some kind of goddess herself?!"

Oromo kept staring. Vultur fell silent. He knew he shouldn't get into religion any more than he should politics. If ponies wanted to live under a monarchy fine. If the Quagga wanted to believe in literal deities, that was fine. What _wasn't _fine was that he was going to die, and he strongly doubted whether a deity, sun goddess or otherwise, would be there at some pearly gates with a stamp saying "no re-entry." But as the fire returned, as he tried to say some more words yet found himself without the capacity to do so, he knew he'd be finding out whether such gates existed soon enough or not.

And yet he couldn't leave this world. Not yet. Not when he saw Oromo before him. Not when he saw a zebra who didn't even understand her full potential. A zebra who was holding herself back from what she could do. Not necessarily for the Quagga. But for other lands. Other peoples. She could have saved his life with what she knew. How many other people could she help? Griffons. Ponies. Even dragons possibly. Or perhaps the buffalo. They had a vaguely similar culture, as he recalled from his trip to the south of Equestria, way back when the notion of a deathflight seemed ludicrous. Ancestor worship, shamanism…maybe that was where Oromo's path lay.

_Oromo, time of death has come,_

_But some words I have to share._

_You have a part to play in this,_

_To save more people from despair._

…

_Lives you can save, peoples to treat,_

_You are not bound to fate._

_Travel north, the people there,_

_Will open wide their gates._

Oromo opened her mouth. But fighting the fire within him, Vultur kept going.

_Warriors can come and go,_

_But medicine lives on._

_If the Quagga do not need you,_

_Then perhaps elsewhere you belong._

Oromo remained silent, even as Vultur got up, his entire body screaming at him to just lie down and wait for his last breaths to leave him. It was time for the deathflight. He wished he could have met Oromo under better circumstances, even if it were still too late to treat him. She could do more than sneak up on griffons and play around with staffs like a unicorn of Equestria's Royal Guard. So much more…so much…

_Just do it._

Slowly, Vultur walked over to the edge. Slowly, he spread his wings. Slowly he closed them, as he felt Oromo touching him. Turning, he faced her.

_I know what comes, what happens next,_

_For this is where you've come to die._

_But before that, if you could…_

She trailed off. But staring kindly at her, Vultur silently egged her on to finish.

_Could I see this land from sky?_

A flight. She wanted a flight. To see her world from the air.

Kneeling down, Vultur beckoned her to do so.

* * *

Even as Awambi set, Oromo could see the land beneath her.

It was beautiful. It was expansive. It was both. It was everything she'd seen over the course of her life, yet more so. Directly below, she could see giraffes, flamingos, even a pack of lions. To the west, she could see the edge of jungle, while to the south and east was more scrubland. Yet it was the north that intrigued her most. The land seemed drier. More barren. It had felt Awambi's rays far more so than Borensisia.

_Awambi…_

Taking her eyes away from the north, the zebra glanced towards the west again, though this time focussing on Awambi's dying light. Soon, Yemayelti's majesty would eclipse her, but for now, she could bask in the soft glow. She wished for a moment that Vultur could have flown when Awambi was higher, but dismissed it. Awambi would always be there. According to the griffon, he soon wouldn't be.

_And to think I could have saved him…_

Letting the wind ruffle her mane, Oromo reflected on the irony of it all, that she'd initially come with the intention of possibly ending Vultur's life early. An act that stood in defiance to her abilities as a healer. The sun goddess had yet to bless her, but maybe…maybe he was right. Maybe she should try to excel at what she was already good at. That was common advice for sun marks, that it was best to focus on pre-existing skills rather than trying to develop new ones. Of course, the passion for said skills was said to be another key factor, but for now, flying above the land, doing what no zebra had ever done before to her knowledge…somehow the notion of wielding a staff seemed kind of silly.

Especially when the griffon dropped through the air suddenly.

"Vultur!" Oromo exclaimed in her own language, throwing her hoofs around his mane. "Are you alright?!"

"Haja ...kwa ...wengine .."

They were words in the language he'd first used. The non-Equestrian one. But Oromo had learnt enough to know that it translated as "I need rest."

"Then take your rest my friend, go back to rock to land. I am already greatful, to from air see this land."

Vultur nodded slowly and headed back to the mountain. Even now, rhyme was the most effective method of communication. Though as they landed back on the ledge of Mount Uhuru, as Vultur sagged onto the rock, physical actions (or the lack of them) still encompassed a universal language.

"Vultur..."

The griffon looked up at her. _It's time_, his gaze said.

Lowering her gaze for a moment, Oromo threw her hooves around him, hoping not to bring harm. An action that said something that transcended any language in the world.

_It's not fair, _the zebra reflected. _It's not fair!_

Why couldn't Vultur have come sooner? If Awambi was a benevolant goddess, why did she allow this to happen? Why was she content to let the Quagga fight against predators and sometimes her own blessings in times of drought, to be content to shine on as if nothing was the matter? She'd asked similar questions after what happened to her mother, but now, faced with her new friend's death, they came rushing back.

_Why?! _the zebra thought angrily, briefly gazing back at the sun's dying light. _Why?! Where's my sun mark?! Why does Vultur have to die?! Why are you always silent, even on Uhuru?! What's so special about this mountain anyway?! __**Why?!**_

So many questions, even when she was wrapped up in Vultur's mane. Oromo wondered if the Quagga even had the answers. She'd been told that no lands existed beyond Borensisia, but even if she discounted Vultur's account of the land he originated from, she'd seen these other lands with her own eyes. A jungle. A wasteland. What else lay beyond? Were the Quagga ignorant, or liars? And whatever the case, where did that ignorance or dishonesty stop? Uhuru? Awambi and Yemayelti themselves? Sun marks had to come from somewhere, but...well, a rock might cause a cut to in turn bleed, but there was nothing divine about _that_. Were sun marks any different?

_I need to think..._

But that would ahve to wait. She had the rest of her life to ponder them. While Vultur, breaking away from her grasp, was at the end of his. Because of something beyond his control. Something that, in better circumstances, she could have healed.

How many more could she help?

"Wait!" the zebra called out in her own language to the griffon. He turned.

"I..." She trailed off. Equestrian was all she could communicate in right now with him. But no rhyme came to her.

Vultur just smiled. There was nothing left to say.

"Thank you..." Oromo whispered as the griffon began his last flight. His deathflight. "For everything."

She watched as he soared out into the air.

She turned as he plummeted.

Some things did not have to be said to have the meaning conveyed.

Just as some things did not have to be seen.

* * *

_A/N_

___This chapter was a bit of a gamble, for two reasons. Firstly, the interwoven poetry/rhymes. The question of how well the story would flow (if at all) with them, and whether they should have a centre or left allignment. Decided on the centre in that not only is it my de facto positioning for poetry, but it would make it stand out...in a good way. Hopefully._

_But why, poetry, you ask? Well, some of you may have already figured it out, but in part it was due to the concept of language. I didn't want to spend an entire chapter showing the two settling on a common language, but I wanted to address it as well, and in a reasonable timeframe at that. The idea in part came from the novel _The Sparrow _where, among other things, the concept of music as a universal language is discussed. Or in this case, rhyme. _


	5. Mark of the Sun

**My Little Pony: Where Griffons Go to Die**

**Chapter 5: Mark of the Sun**

Dawn. A new day. The last turn of sun and moon in which Oromo would set foot outside the village if Selous had his way.

The warrior stood at the village entrance, his cadre of scouts by his side. Three days had passed since Oromo had disappeared. For three days he'd waited. For three days he'd attended his duties. And after three days, he'd got leave from the village chieftain to lead a search party. And after enduring the emotional agony of those three days, he'd be damned if that feeling would extend to a fourth.

_Awambi, light my way, _the Quagga thought to himself, gazing up at the rising sun. _Illuminate the land. Let tracks be clear. Let clouds be absent. May your rays warm, yet not heat us. May…please…help me find my daughter._

As ever, Awambi was silent. The question as to whether she would lend aid could only be answered in the scrubland. Selous dared to hope that her benevolence would be imparted this day. After what had happened to Mauana, the sun goddess owed him some good luck.

"Selous! Look!"

…such as not having to go out at all.

The zebra stood his ground, and the outburst of Zegara aside, so did his cadre. There, approaching them, was Oromo.

_That insolent, blasted girl!_

Selous was overjoyed, but knew he could not afford to show it. Not when he'd got on ceremony for this search. Not when Oromo had kept him worried for three whole days. Not when he'd have to call in a favour from Chief Crawm'tu…who was currently walking over to the entrance.

"Ah, your daughter returns," the elderly zebra said. "I suppose this saves you having to waste time looking for her."

Selous nodded, the words "waste time," not escaping his burning ears. He'd called in a favour. He'd wasted his fellow warriors' time. He'd driven himself sick with worry. And as she slowed her canter to a trot, he could tell Oromo could see it.

_Blast it!_

This wouldn't do. This wouldn't stand. So as he walked out from his fellow Quagga, Selous spoke the only words he could. The words that were most appropriate to this situation. Words that would be followed by many more.

"You're late."

* * *

"You're late."

Oromo rolled her eyes. It was her last arrival in the village all over again, the only difference being the presence of more Quagga, Awambi being lower in the sky. And a whole continent's worth of wisdom on her own part. So even as her father glared at her, even as the other Quagga assembled (including Chief Crawm'tu, literally "Wise One") looked on with a range of expressions, she felt…safe. Secure. As if wrapped in the bark of a tree, immune to anything they could give her.

"Sorry then," she said simply, answering her father's response. "Just been out for a bit."

And with that she walked past him. Past his warriors and the chieftain. Past the entrance. Past-

"Gah!"

Oromo fell to the ground as a staff hit the back of her neck, causing her to sprawl down onto the dirt of the village. She spun around. The Quagga stared. More rushed to them. Her father stood there, his own staff raised.

"Sorry…" he whispered. "Is that what you say to me, Ormo? That you're **sorry?!"**

He lunged forward. Oromo rolled aside. She drew out her own staff.

"I'm taking that away," Selous said. "You've played with that toy far too long."

"I'll play with what I want," Oromo said, getting to her feet and withdrawing the staff. "You can't stop me."

"I'm your father!"

"And I'm not a little one!" she shouted. "That's what you named me father, but it won't ring true forever! I have to grow up!"

"**Then do so!"**

"**I have!"**

"**Then where's your mark?!"**

Selous lunged again. Oromo parried. Her hooves shook as wood met wood.

"Stop this, both of you!" Crawm'tu exclaimed, more zebras coming rushing out as he did so (Crawshay included, much to Oromo's satisfaction). "This is-"

"Learning!" Selous declared. He pointed his staff at Oromo. "My daughter has to grow up. Learn her place."

Oromo glared at him. She'd retrieved her staff for this very moment, having found it as she searched for Vultur's body. She had. She'd done what she could for him, ensuring it looked as dignified as possible. Uhuru, Altai…if there really was any spiritual presence that applied to either of their peoples, she hoped it watched over him.

"You'll stay in the village from now on," Selous declared. "No more adventurers. No more risks. You'll heal, and you'll keep healing here until-"

"Until what? I die?"

"That's always a possibility."

"I bet," Oromo snarled. "I bet my mother knew that as well."

A hush fell over the village. Selous's eyes widened.

"That's why she left, isn't it?" Oromo whispered. "Mauana. The free wind. You caged her, father."

"Don't you dare…" Selous whispered. "Don't you _dare _bring her into this."

"Is that why she left?" Oromo asked softly. "To be free? To get away from you? Was she free when the hyenas found her and-"

"**Enough!"**

Selous lunged. Oromo parried. Her hooves shook.

"I'm going to be free!" Oromo yelled as she wove in and out between blows. "You can't stop me!"

"Just watch me!"

Oromo ducked. Her father's staff came back, hitting her on the jaw. She fell, losing the grip on her staff. Her father kicked it away.

"You're not a warrior Oromo!"

"I know," she said. "I learnt that."

Crawshay began to walk over as Oromo got to her feet.

"Father, teacher…" Oromo said. "I'm not my mother. But…" She focussed her eyes on her father. "You have to let me go."

"You're needed here, Oromo," Selous murmured. "You're not a warrior. You're a healer. The village needs you."

"No, it doesn't," Oromo said. "There are many healers. Many warriors. Losing one won't change anything."

"I'm not losing _you_," Selous said, shouldering his staff and putting a hoof on his daughter's shoulder. "Not like your mother. Not like my friends."

"Please, father," Oromo pleaded. She glanced round at the Quagga assembled. "I can't stay here. None of us can. We all move on. That's our way. But I…I need to go."

"Where?" Selous demanded.

"North. To Equestria."

The zebras stared. North? Equestria? Oromo doubted they even knew what the second term referred to. But looking at their faces, Oromo could tell they weren't too hot on the idea.

"Doesn't Awambi shine over the entire world?" she asked. "Over other lands? Other peoples?"

"There are no other lands, Oromo," Selous said firmly. "You-"

"I saw them. From…from Uhuru."

"You climbed it?!" Crawm'tu exclaimed, heading over. "Without permission?!"

"Yes, I did. And I saw…things. I saw where I need to go. Where I need to be. Where people…need me. I think."

Selous opened his mouth, but Crawshay beat him to it.

"Oromo is right."

The Quagga stared at her.

"Oromo is a healer. We all know that. What I know is that her skills are worth more than just our tribe and village. What of the peoples of other lands? Those without access to the medicines we have here? Could they not benefit from her?"

"Other lands," Selous snorted. "I'm surrounded by dreamers."

"You believe in Awambi, don't you?" Oromo asked.

"Of course I do," Selous said. "We see her."

"No, we see the sun. Not her. Yet we believe in Awambi. We believe in spirits. We believe in things we cannot see or hear or touch, yet we believe all the same. Is it too far-fetched to believe in some other things you've never seen?"

No zebra had an answer.

"I'm going," Oromo said. "Whatever we may have said, whatever we may have done, I didn't come here to fight, Father. But I'm not staying. I want challenge. I want to help people. I…" A smile came to her lips. "I want to speak in Equestrian rhyme. Best fun I've had in awhile."

She began walking past her peers. Accordingly, many Quagga began walking away also, the show now over.

"You can't leave Oromo!"

"Actually, she can Selous," the chieftain said, Oromo turning around to face him. "You can't stop her. She's no longer a foal, and if she chooses not to be among the Quagga…I can't force her to stay."

"But…"

"Selous, you have to let her go," Crawshay said, putting a hoof on his shoulder. "Move on. Zebras are roamers. If one chooses to roam further than usual…then who are we to stop her?"

"But…" Selous walked over to her. "Oromo, you can't leave."

"Why?"

"Because if this is the path Awambi wants for you, where's your mark?"

Oromo didn't have an answer to that.

"Like I said, you can't leave," Selous declared,,"Perhaps I can't stop you. But what of Awambi?"

"What of her?" Oromo asked. "What of her, father? You think our goddess cares? You think she gives a damn what I do?"

"Oromo-"

"No! If Awambi cared, Vultur wouldn't have died! Mother wouldn't have died! If we're her chosen, if we're the ones who receive sun marks, why are we slaves in our own land!? Why?!"

"I don't know," Crawshay said, stepping in for Selous's tongue-tiedeness. "But I do believe Awambi cares nonetheless."

"Why?!" Oromo snapped.

"Because she's blessed you."

Oromo stared. Her father stared. The chieftain stared. Crawshay however, grinned and gestured to her left flank.

Her sun mark had appeared.

* * *

Awambi was setting.

Standing at the exit of the village, the one once called Oromo saw this. Not that she had any intent on setting off then and there – she may have received her sun mark, but the sun's light was still valued, and getting a mark did not automatically protect one from predators. Yet she lingered. In part to see where her journey would take her. In part to get one of her last looks at the land that was her home. In part because she was hesitant to spend time around those she would be leaving. This was right, she told herself. Yet it also felt wrong.

"Oromo…"

And her father wasn't helping.

The zebra turned around to face her father. He faced her in turn.

"Um…"

"Don't worry father, I'm not leaving yet," the warrior's daughter said. "Awambi may have blessed me, but that doesn't mean I've been made foolhardy as a result."

"Traveling to a land that only some flying lion told you about? Some might call that foolhardy."

The one once called Oromo opened her mouth. Yet her father kept talking.

"Oromo, I won't judge you," Selous said softly. "For all the grass that has come between us, I can still see through it. I can see that this is what you want. I can see that I cannot force you into a path you do not which to tread. And these other lands…well, perhaps you're right. Perhaps Awambi _does _shine over them all."

The younger zebra nodded, though she had to wonder. Vultur's words had made an impact on her, his mentions of Awambi (or lack of them) and "Celestia" (whoever that was) included. She wasn't going entirely without her cultural baggage though, what with masks and other mementos being set to be taken with her. Even her staff, though she hoped never to have to use it.

Then again, she'd been left in wonder ever since her sun mark appeared. Silently, she glanced at it again, the symbol being of a grey sun represented by a spiral, which pointers of light covering three-quarters of it. The meaning of her father's sun mark was as clear as a cloudless sky, but hers? Crawshay had theorized it meant that the circle had yet to be completed. A metaphor for her journey. The one once called Oromo didn't know, but supposed she'd have to go with the explanation, if there even was one.

"Well, I'm headed in," Selous said, breaking the silence. "You're welcome too, my daughter. Now, and always."

His daughter smiled. "Not going to lock me up are you?"

"I can try. But I think we both know it's a hopeless endeavour."

The smile faded. The younger zebra could tell that this pained him. That he didn't want to let her go, but was resigned to do so anyway.

_Did Vultur feel the same? _the zebra wondered. _Fated to die. To carry out his deathflight. Even if it would have been easier for him to pass away in his own land?_

Maybe she'd visit Vultur's homeland someday. But one step at a time, she told herself, and all her steps would be northwards for the time being.

"Goodnight then," Selous said, laying a hoof on his daughter's shoulder. "I hope I see you before you leave, Oromo."

The zebra watched him go. She waited a few seconds before saying something.

"No."

The elder Quagga turned around.

"Not Oromo," the daughter of Selous said. "Not anymore."

The warrior smiled. "I know. But you'll always be a 'little one' to me."

The younger Quagga smiled back. Even as her father left and she turned back to catch the last rays of Awambi's dying light.

Oromo. "Little one." Her old name. Having received her sun mark, she could now choose her adult name. One that would fit who and what she was. For all her desire to grow up, to receive her sun mark, it had been a harder process than she'd anticipated. Yet she'd managed in the end. In the end, with the blessings of Crawshay, Crawm'tu and her father, she had chosen a name for herself. A name that fit her as one who would give aid to those who needed it, wherever, whatever, or whoever they might be. One who would go by the name of "kind wanderer."

Or in the Quagga language, Zecora.

* * *

_A/N_

_Brownie points to Princess Moonheart for correctly guessing Oromo's identity. But correct guesses or not, I do feel an explanation of sorts is required.  
_

_The 'problem' with Zecora is that she speaks in rhyme. Not that this is a problem in itself for the show, but if I were to write every piece of dialogue for an entire story for her in rhyme, I'm guessing that it would soon get tiresome. And, admittedly, a nightmare to write for. Hence, I went with the idea of another language, that Zecora speaks in English/Equestrian rhyme to overcome the language barrier, ergo speaking normally in her native tongue. But on the other hand, if I identified her from the start, I anticipated getting an influx of questions as to why she _wasn't _speaking in rhyme. So yeah. Went with this approach, with the whole meanings behind names thing._

_And as _The Duel _showed, Zecora is the show's Yoda. So I guess she's entitled to speak as she damn well pleases. ;)_


	6. Epilogue: One Earth, One Sky

**My Little Pony: Where Griffons Go to Die**

**Epilogue: One Earth, One Sky**

"Oh tell me the story again! Please please please!"

"No."

"Please?"

"_No."_

"Oh _please_…?"

Brave Thunderhooves snorted in frustration. There was no dealing with Little Strongheart. If three "pleases" didn't get her what she wanted, why did she think uttering "please" five-

"_Please_?"

…scratch that, _six _times would make a difference?

"Come on chief, just once more? For me?"

Thunderhooves snorted again, even as he continued sharpening his horns. No-one said buffalo weren't persistent. Certainly not the coyotes that were encroaching upon their lands. But he hoped that Little Strongheart would devote her persistence to keeping herself alive, now that the one who had helped them years ago had moved on. The one who had learnt and imparted so much in the ways of healing. The one who the young buffalo beside him wanted to hear about. _Again_.

"Chief? You even listening to me?"

Thunderhooves grunted in response.

He was tired of this. Tired of fending off coyote attacks with the knowledge that if any buffalo became wounded, they didn't have the Kind Wanderer to help them. Tired of Strongheart's badgering, and her insistence of calling him "chief," maintaining that he would become the next leader of the Teton Tribe once Chief Hardhorn met his ancestors.

"Come on Thundy, you can do it."

The buffalo snorted. No, he couldn't. He couldn't sing the story. He could run, he could fight, he could stampede from one side of the San Palomino Desert to the other, but by the ancestors, he couldn't sing.

"Please…?"

Unless Little Strongheart did the "stare" on him.

The brave sighed and turned to face the youngling before him. Someday she wouldn't be little, but for now, she seemed quite content to get everything out of her age that she could. Apparently Quagga and Teton cultures were similar in this regard, only names in the Teton were as eternal as the land of Mother Earth.

"Alright," Thunderhooves said. "I'll tell…sing…the story. As best as I can remember."

"Yay!"

And just like that, Little Strongheart plopped down. Ready to hear the story of the Kind Wanderer. The one who had helped the Teton when he was little older than Strongheart was today. The one who had moved even further north, seeing what the so-called Everfree Forest had to offer. Letting out a snort before clearing his throat, Thunderhooves began to sing.

_Oh let me tell you a story,_

_Of a land under cloudless sky._

_A land that's far south of this desert,_

_A land where a griffon did die._

…

_For long I awaited my sun mark,_

_To receive the sun goddess's gaze._

_But now truth I know, the sun up above,_

_Is simply the giver of rays._

…

_It couldn't last, and so I searched,_

_When I saw a stranger fly by._

_A griffon of being, Vultur his name,_

_He had come to Uhuru to die._

…

_The mountain I climbed, the griffon I found,_

_With my staff I stood to strike._

_But my blows came to nothing, the griffon awoke,_

_But we managed to avoid a fight._

…

_Oh so long we talked, I rambled he squawked,_

_Until I learnt to speak in rhyme._

_But it couldn't last due to affliction,_

_My new friend was so short on time._

…

_Vultur did die, but my purpose revived,_

_And my sun mark I received._

_To help who I could, to do what I should,_

_Traveling north with the breeze._

…

_Once my name was Oromo, the one that was little,_

_Zecora my name it is now._

_Kind Wander one, under sky and sun,_

_How I came to you, well you know how._

…

_But now I must leave, I hear call of the breeze,_

_Everfree Forest, my next stop._

_There are new herbs to find, I hear that ponies are kind,_

_In the forest I will set up shop._

…

_I've seen so much of the world, its beauty unfurled,_

_Under sun, cloud, sky and rain._

_And I owe it all to a griffon, my friend,_

_And I will never forget my friend's name._

"And she won't forget us, right?" the young buffalo asked Thunderhooves.

"I do not think so," the brave answered, more glad that his story was over and he could get back to making his own. "The Kind Wanderer once said that while elephants…whatever they are…never forget, that zebras aren't too far down the line."

"And we'll see her again, right?" Little Strongheart asked. "We will, right?"

Thunderhooves remained silent.

He wanted to reassure the young buffalo. Wanted to tell her that their healer and friend would return to the tribe, bringing new medicine, tales, and rhymes that the shaman could utter far better than himself. But he doubted it. He'd suspected from the start that she couldn't stay with them forever. Even as she lingered. Even as she aged, as her voice became deeper, and her mane thinner. And sooner or later, she'd move away from the forest she wanted to explore. No doubt she would make new friends that would last a lifetime, but distance would again turn out to be a factor.

"Thundy?"

"I'm sure we'll see her again," the brave lied, snorting affectionately at the girl. "After all…" He pointed up to the sky with one of his hooves, while scraping in the dirt with another. "It is one earth. One sky. Remember that, and we will never be far apart."

It seemed to placate Strongheart.

And looking at the sun set to the west, Thunderhooves found that the thought brought comfort to himself as well.

**The End**

* * *

****_A/N_

_This was meant to go up ages ago, but work hours and the like made me miss two updates. Anyway, finally finished the story. For what it's worth, my original conception was for the epilogue to involve Zecora relating her story in Equestria via rhyme/song form before moving on to Ponyville, but it didn't feel right. Partly because I needed to factor in some prejudice in this setting, partly because it seemed a bit big-headed for her. Hence changed the context and setting.  
_

_Don't have any more stories in this setting to write right now I'm afraid. Currently writing a _Prometheus _story titled _The New Black Gold _for what it's worth._


End file.
